Heroic Hearts

GRAVE GAMBLES by R.R. Virdi

There are a lot of garbage ways to wake up in someone else’s dead body, but a full dumpster is at the top of the list. Especially if you’re buried halfway down. If luck existed, it came in the form of every bit of refuse being neatly packed away in bags. Small blessings. I didn’t need filth soaking me. The dumpster smelled like it’d housed a dead body for days, though, that could have just been me.

I wriggled around the bags, pulling them with care to not rip any. My effort paid off in gently padding more of the garbage below and bringing me closer to the lid. Among all the ways I’ve woken up in a victim’s body, this had to be the easiest. Most involved escaping whatever horrible situation the stiff had been left in. The only saving grace to that was that every body I ended up inhabiting was restored to its healthy living condition prior to the murder. Which didn’t do much for me since I still had to track the killer down and bring them to justice.

And in my cases, the murderers are always monsters. I don’t do normal.

A quick kick lifted the plastic roofing by an inch before it fell, letting me know it wasn’t bolted shut.

I placed both hands against the lid and pushed. Something clanged hard against both sides of the dumpster like it had been struck by a pair of metal rods. The bin shook once before moving in a steady motion. My eyes widened as I realized what had happened. I smacked the lid open, whipping my head around as I tried to situate myself.

“Well, shit.” I hate being right.

A garbage truck had clamped onto the dumpster, lifting it two-thirds of the way to the top. The angle of the bin reached the point where bags pressed against me, threatening to tumble past into the truck’s bed.

I scrambled forward and let momentum do its thing. My fingers fought for purchase as I tipped out from the dumpster. The inner lining, a bit slick, kept me from getting a decent hold. I slipped down, thumping the lid as I twisted to avoid tumbling into the sea of trash below.

Panicked decisions don’t always pan out. I managed to divert my fall toward the outermost edge of the truck’s bed frame instead. Metal met the side of my jaw and cheek like a sledgehammer. Bands of white and red streaked my vision as I pancaked onto the hard asphalt.

The landing didn’t help my head as I tried to shake myself clear. Salt and copper filled the inside of my mouth. I spat and saw flecks of carmine tinge my spittle as it pooled with what water had beaded along the road. That, coupled with the humidity in the alley, let me know it had rained not too long ago.

The truck groaned as it finished emptying the dumpster.

“Damn, man! Are you all right?” Footsteps sounded behind me.

I got to my feet and turned to regard the source of the voice.

The guy couldn’t have been out of his early twenties; he was Latin American and well-bronzed, likely from his job. He had a solid build, filling out most of the canvas uniform you see worn by sanitation workers. A good sign the man made time to hit the gym after a day of work. His hair was shaved close to his scalp and he showed a few days’ worth of dark stubble over his face. A name tag was stitched onto his outfit just over his left breast, reading Jake. His eyes were the color of dark bourbon and held a clear note of concern for my well-being.

“Yeah.” I shook my head, running the back of a hand across my mouth to wipe away some of the blood and drool. “Rough night . . . rougher morning.”

Jake looked me over again. “Looks like. You sure you don’t need anything, man?”

I thought about it. I didn’t have my bearings yet, making my job harder than necessary. “There a church nearby?”

Jake glanced over his shoulder to the dumpster, then gave me another look-over, pursing his lips. “Yeah, I guess you could use one, huh?”

Ouch.

I cleared my throat and arched a brow—waiting.

Clarity returned to him a second later. “Right, there’s one a bunch of blocks down from here.” He gestured in the direction for me to head. “Just stay on the outside sidewalk of the strip mall and you’ll hit it if you keep walking for a bit. See it all the time on our route.” His eyes widened. “I gotta get back to that.” He thrust his chin up in a curt nod and clambered back up to his spot on the garbage truck.

I put two fingers to my forehead, tipping them in a salute as I made my way out of the alley.

Jake’s instructions would be simple enough to follow. I made my way onto the corner of a sidewalk in the small mall, looking over my surroundings to situate myself. As I did, I caught sight of a pair of rainbows arcing from the roof of one of the buildings to about a block or two away.

The strip looked to be the usual fare for local businesses: a barber, a nail salon, a doughnut shop, and the closest building to me being a veterinarian’s office. I made my way toward it, hoping to bum their bathroom to clean up.

The windows were tinted a dull black that kept me from catching sight of my reflection, meaning no luck on figuring out anything about my new body. I placed a hand against the glass, trying to peer into the place, but couldn’t make out a single thing. A tug on the door elicited a low rattle as it jerked, refusing to open. A piece of paper sat taped to a boarded-over pane on the other side of the door. It featured an image of a young boy. The kid was seven years old. Dark haired and dark featured with bright eyes. Andy, and he’d been missing for a few days now. Another sign next to it told me the building had been shut down for a month.

I sighed, resuming my walk. I’d have to try my luck somewhere else. The quicker I could get any bit of info on whose meatsuit I wore, the faster I’d get to the bottom of what monster had killed him and hit my next case.

A lance of pain shot through my temple like someone had spiked me with an ice pick. My vision cut again and a percussive beat went off that silenced me to anything other than drumming agony. I placed a hand against the masonry for balance as my legs threatened to give out.

Images flooded my mind. I sat at a round wooden table, its stain washed and worn down to reveal pale streaks. It could comfortably host three people around it at most. Someone sat opposite me, but the edges of my vision blurred, obscuring them in a haziness. Pressure built in my right leg just above the knee as my fingers dug into the meat there, squeezing harder than necessary. My other hand rested inches from the side of my head and trembled. A weight filled it and I couldn’t peg what it could be from.

The world rocked and blackness followed.

I blinked clear of the dream, smacking the heel of a palm against my skull to reorient myself. A courtesy of the few gifts I’ve got on account of being a body-hopping soul. I end up collecting the memories and skills belonging to the bodies I bounce through. The problem comes when those memories flood you without control and vivid realism. They were some of the only clues I ever had, though.

I found my balance and staggered forward toward the doughnut shop, figuring I could grab enough of a quick meal to bounce back from the trying memory and give myself a proper look-over. I pushed the door open and went inside.

The counter and display took up most of the space, running from one wall of the shop to eight feet short of the other side. All manner of delectable doughiness caught my eye, promising me the perfect sugar bomb to keep me going. My stomach tightened in anticipation. I placed a hand over it and strolled over to the glass housing, taking a better look at the shop’s offerings. I spotted a row of cake doughnuts drizzled in white frosting with countless sprinkles on top.

“Want me to grab you one?”

I looked up to see who’d spoken.

The young man couldn’t have been out of high school. He had dark skin and short-cropped hair. Past that, you’d be hard-pressed to pick him out of a crowd of teens at the mall. He wore a collared shirt the color of the frosting with blue pinstripes running down it.

His question drove me to consider something I hadn’t earlier. I gave myself a quick pat-down, hoping my new body had been disposed of with a wallet. Something pressed against one of my hands as I slid it along a pocket on my hip. I plunged my fingers in, fishing out a few crumpled bills, a single quarter, and a lone key that had been oddly filed down in places along the teeth.

It had been too much to hope for the wallet. Most monsters don’t leave anything behind on a victim that could be used to identify them later.

I looked back to the doughnuts. White frosting with sprinkles. No self-respecting paranormal investigator would choose those. I glanced back to the kid and held up a pair of fingers. “I’ll take two.”

He nodded and plucked up the treats with a pair of tongs, slipping the desserts into a paper bag. “Coffee, something else to drink?”

I eyed the cash in hand. Three bucks and twenty-five cents. “What’ll this get me?” I waved the money, giving the kid a second to tally it up.

“Small dark roast or decaf.”

I nodded as I made my way down to the register, plopping the cash down on the counter sans the quarter. That ended back up in my pocket.

Maybe it was a little superstitious, but a lone coin’s a lucky thing to some. And in my business, a little luck can go a long way. Especially when dealing with the supernatural.

“Holy shit, I won!” A man leaped to his feet, clutching a sliver of paper between his fingers.

The employee sighed from behind the counter. “That’s like the twentieth one.”

I eyed him, asking a question in silence with my look.

“People have been winning big cash from scratchers all week in the mall. I don’t get it, man. My luck’s not that great.” The kid scooped up my cash, running the total and passing me my change.

I waved him off. “Keep it.” I won’t be around long enough for it to do any good anyhow.

He shrugged and passed me the bag with my doughnuts, leaving my coffee for me to pick up.

I spotted the bathroom and headed toward it, bumping the door open with my hip. The sink had a wooden board running over it where a mini soap dispenser rested. There was enough room for me to place my drink and food down while I washed my hands.

The mirror above the sink sat at an angle, its metal frame crooked. But it gave me what I needed. A chance to make out my newly borrowed body and identify the victim.

The face staring back at me looked to be in its early forties. I had a decent tan and wrinkles around the dark brown eyes that could have come from lots of time in the sun as well as age. A few rogue bands of gray streaked my finger-length dark hair. More salt than pepper made up the stubble lining my new face’s solid jawline.

There were no visible signs of what could have killed me. Both the blessing and the curse of my situation. Any body I inhabited was restored to its state prior to death by a higher power, and I healed a good bit faster than the average vanilla mortal. It wasn’t comic book crazy, but if something didn’t kill me outright, there was a good chance I’d bounce back to one hundred percent given enough time.

I took in my clothing next. The kind of dark blue overalls that could be found on mechanics and other industrial laborers. A white oval had been stitched just above the left breast pocket and a name had been embroidered into it in red thread: Curt.

At least now I had the start of his identity and maybe a guess at what kind of work Curt might have been in. None of which got me any closer to what sort of monster killed him and, more importantly, why?

I finished my business and grabbed up my food, leaving the shop and hitting the streets in the direction of the church. A few minutes passed before the inevitable hunger pangs of taking on a new body hit me. It’s a coin toss between what growled louder, me or my stomach.

I plunged a hand into the paper bag, snatching a doughnut and scarfing it down. The frosting had caked up in a few places, and some of the sprinkles had softened like they’d been out for a while, but it was the best damned thing in the world to me. The coffee hadn’t cooled quite enough for me to take a sip without burning myself. I chanced it anyhow, giving the lip of the cup a quick blow before tipping it back. The brew tasted smoother than I would have guessed for strip mall coffee, not carrying much of a bitter bite.

The rest of the walk went by in a blissful blur as I reached the church just as Jake had described. The place looked like what anyone would expect of a church just outside a strip mall. It could have been a small barn at one point that had been converted and fixed with a steeple at the front. The whole of the building was painted a shade of white found on classic picket fences. An unassuming place not worth remembering.

I leaned against one of the brown double doors and pushed my way in to find the building unoccupied. Not a surprise. Every time I entered a church on a case, it’d be remarkably empty save for one person.

I let the door shut behind me as I made my way over the burgundy carpet and by the old worn pews. The inside had been painted a softer, muted white than the outside. “Hello?”

“Vincent.”

I jumped a foot away from the source of the voice and almost dropped my coffee. “Christ, don’t do that!”

The man who’d spoken had the sort of looks where you weren’t sure if he was prettily handsome, or handsomely pretty. Fair-skinned, lean build, and tousled golden locks that fell to his chin and framed his face well. His eyes were a deep and cold blue like the waters just below the surface of a frozen lake. He wore a pair of black glasses that only added to the nerd chic look all made worse by the khakis and pale blue dress shirt he’d tucked into his pants.

His lips pulled into a thin frown as he looked me over. “Please don’t say that name in vain here, Vincent.”

I grimaced when he said my name. Not the one of the man whose body I was occupying, but the only name I’d had to cling to when I started this gig. The name I’d given myself, Vincent Graves. Doing this job, my soul bouncing from body to body, all came with a cost. I’d accrued so many borrowed memories and skills from the people I’d been in that I’d lost track of my original ones, including my name.

I’d once asked the blondie in front of me for his own. He thought it funny to take a look around the church we’d been in then and name himself that.

“I’ll stop that when you stop the Batman act, Church.” I arched a brow and shrugged. “So, where am I this time?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “A small town outside of the counties that make up what’s known as Northern Virginia. Somewhere you won’t likely be back again any time soon.” Church held out a hand expectantly.

I sighed. It was as good as I was going to get on info. He wasn’t a chatty guy.

“I’m chatty enough when I need to be.”

I squinted. He also had the unnerving habit of being able to guess my thoughts.

He smiled, saying nothing. The look could have easily been the sort of smug satisfaction that’d get a guy punched in the nose.

I set the drink and paper bag down, rolling up the sleeve of my left arm as I presented it to him. “Don’t suppose you’ll be nicer with the timeline this time around?” I flashed him a lopsided grin. “I brought you coffee and a doughnut.”

He rolled his eyes as he clamped onto my forearm with both hands. “Coffee you’ve already sipped and a doughnut you bought for yourself? Besides, I’m trying to watch my figure and sugar is bad for you.”

I opened my mouth to say something brilliantly witty when searing pain engulfed my arm. It felt like the tissue had been pressed to a hot grill and held there for a handful of seconds. When I pulled away from his grip, a big black number 1 sat emblazoned into the center of my forearm. The surrounding area had turned a bright red and still burned.

One hour. That was how long I had to solve the case of what monster killed Curt and how long my soul could occupy his body. If I failed, justice wouldn’t be done for Curt and a monster would still be roaming the world. I’d be shuffled along to the next body and case having to live with that. And there was always the chance the freak behind this got the upper hand and killed me.

At the end of the day, I can die just like anyone else.

I shook my head clear of that thought and eyed Church. “What gives with the short deadline?”

His face remained perfectly impassive, but a light filled his eyes like he was refraining from smiling. “You won’t need it.”

I raised a brow higher than earlier. “Why’s that?”

“Because I’m going to give you what you need. Your name is Curtis Brown. You’re a local HVAC technician, former locksmith, who also volunteers as a handyman for the daycare center across the street, all out of the goodness of his heart. That’s where you should start, and maybe consider looking into the children’s playground at the back.”

I blinked. Church didn’t have a habit of being overly forthcoming with info on my cases. Now he’d practically handed me what I needed. “What gives?”

“Children.” His eyes hardened and, for a second, I could have sworn the light behind them brightened a bit. Storm clouds brewed behind that stare.

I had to look away as I took in what he’d said.

Kids. Both he and I had a particular hard rule about that.

Never mess with children, whether you’re a monster or human. You don’t do that around either of us.

I clenched a fist. “Fair enough.” I looked back to where he’d been standing to find nothing.

Silence. You’d have never known anyone else had been there with me.

I exhaled, reaching for the bag with the doughnut. “That shit gets really tiring, you know?” I paused when I glanced at where I’d set the drink down. It had vanished as cleanly as Church, but the bag remained. “Really, my coffee?” I grumbled, going through countless iterations of what kind of ass Church was as I snatched up my doughnut and headed out of the building.

The place across the street had been painted a shade of taupe that made me fight down a yawn just looking at it. Bright rainbow lettering over the front listed the phone number and the words Daycare Center.

I made my way to the front door and pulled on one of the handles. It budged a micro-fraction, clicking in resistance as it refused to open. I squinted at the door, then noticed a buzzer to one side. It chimed before I could jab it with a thumb and I gave the door another pull. It opened and I slipped inside.

The room was more along what I expected out of a kids’ center. Plush carpet, the kind that wouldn’t be too bad to fall on but would still give you a decent rug burn if you weren’t careful. A few building blocks littered a corner to my right. The desk ahead had been peppered in loose sheets of paper filled with crayon scribbles. A young woman sat behind it who looked like she belonged in college.

She wore a pale blue blouse and had her brown hair pulled into a neat and tight bun. Her mouth pulled into a tired smile when she saw me. “Hi, Curt.”

I inclined my head, figuring it best not to speak since I couldn’t recall her name through the muddle of Curtis’s memories.

“You look rough. Bad night?”

“Trashy one, same with the morning, I guess.” I mirrored her strained smile as I tried to navigate the conversation to what I needed. “Anything unusual up? Something need fixing?” It made sense to lump in asking for gossip along with a bit of work questions. I moved closer to her, reaching the edge of the desk and propping my elbows onto it.

She gave me a thin frown and the expression brought out creases in her forehead she was too young to have. “Some of the kids are still missing. A few of the parents told us the police haven’t turned up anything yet. I’ve been trying not to think about it too hard.” Her voice had cracked near the end.

“I’m sure they’ll turn up something.” Or I will, at least. I raised the little paper bag, giving it a shake. “Doughnut?” I hoped the offer would cheer her up even a small bit.

“Oh, God. I can’t—shouldn’t. I’ve been bingeing pizza and beer the last few nights while cramming for midterms.” She shook my offer off.

I drummed a finger against the desk as I looked to the far end of the room, trying to peer through the windows and into the playground outside. “Mind if I go out back and check on the equipment? I want to see if anything’s at risk of falling apart. Don’t want a kid to get hurt.”

She gave me a tense nod.

I moved by her, heading toward the back.

“Curt, wait. You left your keys here two days ago.”

I turned, processing what she’d said. So he’d been missing for a pair of days, and in that time, he’d wound up dead. He couldn’t have gone that far from here to manage that. Meaning the monster had to be close. I flashed her a more sincere smile than before and held out my hands as she stood up, leaning over the desk to plop them into my hands. “Thanks.” I tilted my head, pretending to stifle a yawn as I managed to catch sight of her name tag. “Jeanine. I don’t know how I lost them, guess I’ve been unlucky of late.”

Jeanine blew out a breath as she sank back into her chair. “Yeah, well, people’s luck’s been weird the last week, right?” She’d spoken as if I was supposed to be in on the context.

I arched a brow and waited.

She watched my passive expression and then blinked, mouthing for a moment without words. “Come on, like Tyler’s parents? One moment they’re the perfect couple, then the next”—she clapped her hands—“divorced. She wins the Powerball. He’s lost everything on the stock market? My car broke down yesterday and I was freaking out how I’d get here. My mom offered me a ride and turns out she’d been sitting on a huge birthday check from my grams. You hear about how many people have been winning scratchers over in the strip?” Jeanine hooked a thumb in the direction I’d come from earlier.

I grunted, not bothering to draw out the conversation any more than needed and headed toward the back door.

The playground lived up to what you’d want for your kids. A wide patch filled with wood chips and some swing sets. A solid plastic slide to zip down. Monkey bars and rungs to clamber over the way only little children could. A few rocking horses sitting on heavy-duty coiled springs. Hoops set low enough for kids to have a hope to make them. A mini blacktop area off to one side that had clearly been built for the children to have somewhere to spill paint and scribble chalk over.

A band of tykes was being led along in a line, clapping their hands, by a woman who I pegged to be somewhere between her late thirties and early forties. She had the skin and dark features that could have marked her ancestry as coming from somewhere in Southeast Asia. Her dark hair had been braided into a neat and out-of-the-way tail that hung past her shoulders. She was dressed comfortably in a pair of slacks, loose-fitting shirt, and well-worn sneakers.

Her eyes widened when she saw me.

Bingo. When someone reacts like that to a body I’m borrowing, there’s usually a good reason why. And I decided to go find out what that was.

A boy, likely no older than six, tugged on the woman’s pants just below the waistline. I drew closer as the lady bent to listen to him.

“Miss Chaudhry, can we take the ball and play?” The kid gestured to another child behind him who held a purple rubber ball. It was the kind of thing that would have packed a wallop whether kicked or thrown. “And do you know when Andy will be back?”

She frowned before putting on a forced smile. Miss Chaudhry ushered the kid forward, saying something I couldn’t catch but had to take as an affirmative. The boy burst with delight and ran off shrieking with the enthusiasm only someone his age could muster. The rest of the kids broke out of the line and followed behind.

“Miss Chaudhry.” I inclined my head before turning to watch the kids punting the ball back and forth.

“Curtis . . .” The pause lingered for a bit longer than I would have expected. That told me something.

I let the silence drag out until it weighed on the pair of us. “You looked surprised to see me.”

She gave me a thin, strained smile. “I am.”

“Didn’t expect to see me, then.” It wasn’t a question. I watched her, waiting to see her reaction.

Miss Chaudhry sniffed. “No. And since none of the missing children have returned, I don’t know how you could have either?”

I blinked. That meant she knew Curtis had gone looking for them, which meant she had an idea of what was going on. And that was a damn sight more than me. I matched her thin smile from moments ago. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

She gave me a level look. “You’re not Curtis, are you?” It came off more as an accusation than a question.

I matched her stare. “You ever hear of the name Vincent Graves?”

Her body stiffened like an icy rod had gone through her spine. She licked her lips before speaking. “Some of us have . . . the supernatural, I mean. The spirit, bouncing around solving murders, killing some of us.”

Some of us. Meaning she was walking on the monster side of things. Question was, what was she?

Sometimes the best thing you can do is just ask. So I did.

“And I’m here to put another monster down. Which brings me to this: are you the one I’m looking for? If you’re not, then you might want to tell me what you are and why I shouldn’t find a way to gank you.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Yaksha.” Miss Chaudhry waved a hand to the widespread thicket of trees at the edge of the park. “I preside over this small bit of nature. I’m the local luck spirit, trying to do what I can to look after the little ones.” She gave the kids playing ball an affectionate look.

I hadn’t expected that. Yaksha were nature spirits that could manipulate luck on a small scale, granting it or taking it away. They weren’t known for being malicious unless provoked. But minor spirits across many religions were usually tied to some small chunk of land they couldn’t leave without giving up serious bits of their power, meaning she couldn’t interfere or help. Some lore argued that yaksha had a soft spot for kids.

And nothing’s got more luck than a child’s luck. They’re innocent, pure, and damn near magical as anything can get. Which meant . . .

“I’m going to ask you something, and I’d like you to answer honestly.” I didn’t give her a moment to consider anything else. “Do you know what is taking the children? And is it after their luck?” I thought back to the odd happenings in the town concerning twists of fortune. There wouldn’t be any more obvious reason to go after the kids, and sometimes the supernatural are just that damn simple.

She bowed her head in a silent yes.

“What is it? Where is it?” I may have taken an unnecessary step toward her and lowered my voice to a growl. It wasn’t intentional, but when kids are involved, I see red easier.

Miss Chaudhry pointed at an angle to the sky.

I followed the gesture to a pair of rainbows arcing from the parking lot of the daycare center back toward the strip mall. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Leprechauns. Freaking leprechauns.

Lots of their lore got twisted over the ages—perverted, but some bits were true. The meddlesome monsters were definitely lucky, and they could play with luck too, for good or bad. But it came with a cost.

Fortune always does. Never forget that.

I’d seen people try to twist luck to their ways before and it never went well for the people who’d made the deals.

I grumbled under my breath as I moved toward the strip mall, bothering to take a peek at my forearm.

It hadn’t changed—one hour left, but just how much of that hour remained? My tattoo didn’t take minutes into account.

That galvanized me into doubling my pace until I fell into something just short of a run. My gaze kept flicking to the sky, tracking the double rainbow in hopes of pinpointing exactly where it ended.

I made my way onto the asphalt of the strip mall and caught sight of what I believed to be the end of the twin beams. The location brought me to a stop.

The clinic I’d first tried to catch a glimpse of myself at. A familiar piece of paper stared back at me. The one with a young boy’s face on it—Andy’s face.

My fingers tightened against the mouth of the paper bag holding my last doughnut and I resolved to treat myself to it after kicking Lucky’s ass.

I rushed over to the door to the vet, giving it a forceful tug. It didn’t budge. A quick look around the strip revealed two people leaving the doughnut shop. Smashing my way through the window wasn’t an option. The noise would draw more attention than I could afford and—

My vision tilted before images flooded me. Curtis’s hands slipped an odd key into the deadbolt of the door before me, giving the tool a jiggle before smacking it hard. Clarity returned seconds later along with a migraine like someone had taken a bat to my temple.

I recognized the key from my vision and sent a hand fumbling through my pocket. My fingers slipped over the piece of metal and I plucked it free, turning it over in my grip. It took me another second to realize what I really had in my hand. A bump key.

They were tools fashioned by criminals more than anyone else to help circumvent a lock. Genuine locksmiths didn’t have much use for one outside the novelty . . . and that they could work in select situations.

The principle is simple. They’re filed down just enough to slip into any lock. You put them in, apply pressure, give them a good bump, and the impact jars the pins of a lock into place for a fraction of second. You can usually get through a single lock that way.

And then it clicked. Curtis had used his background to fashion this to get through the door before me.

I slipped the key in just short of all the way, then pulled off a shoe, applying pressure to the broad face of the key with a thumb so it would try to turn the lock. A smack from the heel of my shoe slammed the key in. Click. I tugged the door open, slipping inside without bothering to put my shoe back on immediately.

It took me longer than I would have liked to adjust to the darkness of the boarded-up interior. I moved past the small reception area, heading toward the back. That was when I heard it.

Sniffling. A few moans. The kind that could only come from one source. Little kids. You know the sound if you’ve ever heard it before.

I gritted my teeth, opening the first door on my right.

A child who couldn’t have been more than eight lay strapped to a bed. He’d been blindfolded.

Crimson streaked my vision and I rushed to help him.

Well, I tried.

Something barreled into my midsection, slamming me into the door hard enough to threaten tearing it from its hinges. The paper bag slipped from my grip. Instinct drove me to twist and drive an elbow down into the back of my attacker.

The blow connected, forcing him to his knees, but I must have had a moment of bad luck as the inside of my joint struck a bony bit of his spine. My arm went numb, tingling in odd places. I’d struck my funny bone in the attack.

My assailant used the pause to right himself, swinging a fist toward my ribs.

I pivoted and stepped to the side, hoping he’d slam his hand into the unforgiving metal door. I didn’t pay enough attention to my surroundings, though. My haste led me to shove a foot against the protruding doorstop and I tumbled to the ground in another bit of misfortune.

A laugh sounded from above me.

I rolled over to take stock of my attacker.

He stood at five-six. Dark hair and eyes, blotchy pale skin. He had a lean body carved from gnarled wood. I could tell he knew how to scrap even if he didn’t have much muscle. He wore a gray tank top and a pair of jeans that only stayed on because of the belt. His nose had the sort of crookedness to it that came from being repeatedly broken and never once set right.

I slowly got to my feet as he watched me. “I’m guessing you’re Lucky, huh?”

He gave me a toothy smile. “Bad stereotype. And I thought you died the first time you tried this.”

Which answered my question.

“Round two will go differently.” I flashed him a wolfish grin.

He tilted his head to one side. “That so?”

“Yeah. Ever hear of Vincent Graves?”

His eyes widened and he screamed, bull-rushing me.

Guess he has.

He collided with my torso, trying to take me down.

I’d braced a heel against the wall behind me, using it to keep my balance. When his attempt failed, I capitalized on his lack of momentum and drove a knee into his sternum. The strike landed home but a dull ache manifested in the muscle around the joint. I winced. “What gives?”

Lucky pulled away from me, grimacing as he massaged his chest. “Haven’t figured it out yet?”

Son of a bitch.

“You’re manipulating chance, any bad thing that can happen in this fight is happening.” I glared at him.

He waggled a hand. “It’s more likely to happen.” His smile from earlier came back, widening.

I ran a tongue over my teeth. “If that’s the case, there’s got to be a limit. No monster’s perfect, and there’s only so long you can keep that up.”

His smile faltered, just for a moment, but enough for me to know I’d been right.

“So, how long do we do this dance before your luck turns sour?” I recalled a bit of lore I’d once read concerning leprechauns. The more they manipulated luck, the higher the chance they also had of incurring bad luck to the degree they’d altered. It was a karmic clapback of exponential proportions.

“That’s the thing about luck, spirit, you never know when it will turn. It could go poorly for you before you ever manage to turn it on me. It did for the last guy.” He winked.

“That’s why you’re feeding off kids? Trying to stockpile fortune for a rainy day?”

“Something like that. It’s not all bad. I’ve been throwing random bones here and there to the locals.” Lucky rolled his shoulders once.

“Yeah, I bet. So how about we settle this?”

“Thought you’d never ask. Follow me.” He stepped backward out of the room, turning to move down the hall.

I hadn’t expected that.

I picked up my fallen bag and followed him to a back room.

The room at the back had been cleared away but for a table . . . and cages. Three guesses what was inside them. More kids.

And I recognized one of them. The boy and I locked stares and he was a kid of dark hair and eyes—six years old at first guess. Andy. He gave me a look of silent plea. Wanting help. Wanting rescue.

My fingers dug into my palms.

I counted at least six more kids and it took everything I had not to throttle the monster on the spot. He probably would have expected it and turned it on me somehow.

“Sit.” Lucky motioned to a round table with two seats opposite each other.

“We going to talk this out like rational folk?” I pulled out a chair and sat.

His mouth pulled to one corner. “Something like that.” He went to a small shelf that came up to his waist, pulling a revolver from the top of it.

My eyes went owlishly large. “Oh you dirty, cheating son of a—”

He raised a hand to stop me before smacking the gun down in the center of the table.

I paused. Then it registered. “This is how you dealt with Curtis.” The first vision I had of how he’d died, a game of Russian roulette. “Fitting, I guess. Gets your rocks off, playing with luck and danger.” Another realization hit me.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

“You’re right. I don’t know if I can beat you in a straight-up fight, especially when you can twist luck. But if you want to do it this way, you’ll have to swear on your power you won’t manipulate here. Besides, if you do, never know when it can go all wrong, huh?”

Lucky frowned, glancing down at the gun, then back at me.

“What’s the matter? Not feeling as lucky as you claim to be?” I glanced at the kids in cages, clenching my jaw hard enough to make my gums ache. “I’ve gotten this far without a whit of luck, so maybe yours isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be if you need it? Can’t play fair? Or maybe the only way you have any luck to throw about is when you steal it from some kid? Doesn’t say much for you, does—”

One of his fists slammed into the table. “Enough. Fine, you want to die that badly? We’ll play it that way. I swear on my power that I won’t use an ounce of my luck till this is over and one of us is dead.” He narrowed his eyes in a look that made it clear he believed I’d be the one to bite it.

Say what you will about the paranormal, but they’ve got just as much hubris as any mortal. Sometimes more. And if you can ding that, go for it. There’s a reason it’s a sin and a downfall of many. And I meant for it to be his.

By swearing on his power, he’d ensured he had no choice but to play fair. Violating that oath would cause a nasty magical or psychic backlash that could rob him of his powers, hurt him, or even turn them against him. It wasn’t much, but I’d leveled the playing field.

Now all I had to do was win.

In a game totally down to luck.

He raised the revolver, thumbing the cylinder open to show a single round inside. Lucky snapped it shut, slammed it back to the table, and spun it.

It rotated till its point faced me. Of course I’m first. Lucky me.

The leprechaun grinned, a maniacal light in his eyes.

I inhaled, raised the gun, and pulled.

Click.

Phew. I breathed out and put the gun back down, giving it a shove to send it spinning.

Lucky’s turn. He raised it to his head without hesitation, grinning, and then pulled the trigger.

Click. Nothing.

Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

He spun the gun.

My turn. I brought it to my head, casting a sideways glance at my tattoo. Still said an hour, but how much of that had slipped away? Was I gambling away time? Did I have a chance to turn this around in a fight?

“Stop stalling and pull.”

I did.

Click. I slammed the gun back down and stared. “Your turn, Lucky.”

He bristled in his seat. Guess he didn’t have as much faith in his luck as he’d thought. He didn’t grab the gun, choosing to lean forward instead. “You can’t win.”

“Maybe. Won’t know till you pull. Go.” I held my stare.

He leaned back, giving me a nonchalant shrug that carried a hint of stiffness in it. “I’ve done this before.”

Poker face, huh? Two can play that game. “You have. But not against me. Pull.”

He grabbed the gun and aimed at me.

. . . oops? I should have seen that one coming.

“What are you doing?” I placed a hand under the edge of the table, hoping I could flip it over in time in case things went from bad to worse.

“Thinking that maybe I could save some time and end this now.” He steadied the gun.

Guess my poker face needed work. “Save face, you mean. Your luck must not be as hot as you thought, huh?”

Lucky narrowed his eyes and the gun shook. “What did you say?”

I smiled, but beads of sweat built on the back of my neck. Hubris had gotten me into this, maybe a touch of my own, but maybe it’d get me out, with a little luck.

An idea struck me.

“I think you’re scared and can’t live up to what you said earlier. What if I raise the ante?” I didn’t give him a chance to reconsider as I fished a coin out of my pocket, rolling it between the first two fingers on my right hand. “I toss this coin, you call it, we finish the game. You call it right, you get my soul.”

Silence.

And I knew I had him.

There are few things more magical in this world than someone’s soul. It’s damn near a nuclear reactor of magical potential. For a creature wanting power—luck, he could do worse than my soul.

Hunger flooded his eyes and the gun shook more. He licked his lips once and put the gun down, not relinquishing his grip on it.

I raised the baggie in my other hand, giving it a shake.

“What’s that?”

“Just sweetening the pot.” I pulled the doughnut out, setting it down on the bag as I pushed it to the center of the table. “My soul and a doughnut . . . with sprinkles, so long as you’re around to collect. Think you’re lucky enough for that wager?”

Lucky’s lips pressed tight like he was fighting a smile. “Fine by me. Toss.”

I did and hoped I was right about how this would go down. A look at the kids told me I didn’t have much choice now that it’d come to this.

I had a job to save them. I wasn’t a hero; that was what Curtis was. He had zero clue about this world and still stepped into it to help these children. But sometimes the heroes are dead and we have to fill in. It’s not something you’re born to. You just lace up the boots and walk in ’em when the moment calls for it.

I tossed the coin. “Call it and pull!”

He raised the gun to his head, grinning wide enough to make a shark jealous. “Heads.”

The coin landed heads.

Lucky’s smile grew further. “Guess I still had enough luck to sway that, huh?”

Yeah, and I was betting you would.

He pulled the trigger, eyes widening just as he caught on to what I’d done.

And bad luck came to collect.

Bang. Red ichor and gore spurted from the side of Lucky’s head before he thumped against the table.

He shouldn’t have used his luck to alter the toss, but he’d gotten greedy. Lucky had made a pact, swearing off from using his powers, and the second he did, his luck turned on him—badly.

He might have won my soul, but he wouldn’t be around to collect.

I gave one look to the kids in cages. The risk had been worth it.

The frosting of the doughnut stole my attention and I snaked it up, glancing at Lucky as I bit into the dessert. “You know”—I took a moment to chew and swallow—“these things can kill ya.” It tasted just as good as the first one had.

I set about freeing the kids, starting with Andy.

His eyes were red and a hint of moisture welled along his lids. “Am I going to be okay?”

I held him tight for a long moment. “Yeah, kid. You’re going to be fine. You’re going home.”

A quick search of the place revealed an old office phone still connected. A simple 911 call did the rest. I wouldn’t stick around for the authorities to show up, knowing they’d get the kids taken care of.

Sometimes the usual heroes aren’t around to save the day. You’ve got to hope someone else comes along, and if they don’t, you’ve got to hope you can do it. And in my experience, hope works, and we can all be the heroes someone else needs.

I headed back to the church to wrap up my case.